


Creatures Such as We

by friendlyneighborhoodhomo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cannibalism, Gore, Local Man Too Stupid To Die, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyneighborhoodhomo/pseuds/friendlyneighborhoodhomo
Summary: A lot of people thought the end of the world would be loud. A war, maybe, with hundreds of bombs and fires lighting up the sky for weeks on end; maybe a meteor crashing into the Pacific ocean and superheating the globe so it cooked all living creatures. But no. No, it was much quieter than any of that.
Kudos: 1





	Creatures Such as We

**Author's Note:**

> this is highly experimental so bear with me

**SPRING**

Broken glass crunched beneath his feet as he dropped from the window, and he immediately did his customary scan of the area; better to check for the hunters that may not be there than to be witless prey for the ones that were. But nobody came barging out, and no muties came crawling out of the half-collapsed buildings either. Though he’d have to be careful; the sun was about to go down, and night was when the muties were most active. He’d have to head back to his hidey-hole soon. Cole adjusted his bag and cautiously stood up, stepping out onto the street as quietly as he could. Looking to his left and right, he didn’t see much of anything; no signs of hunters, sure, none of the telltale bullet holes or blood smears, but also no signs of other no-infs that didn’t want him dead. He glanced up at the sun again, then sighed and hurried across the street, clambering onto a car that had crashed into the side of a building, and then in through a long-shattered window.

The room he slipped into was small, almost cramped, but it had all the essentials for survival nowadays: mattress on the floor (for sleeping), kerosene stove (for cooking meats), board to cover the window (shit, he really had to remember to leave that covering it; he quickly set it against the window and sighed nervously), shelf of books (he was about halfway through the whole stash, gonna have to find some new ones soon…) He set his backpack on a small wooden stool and rummaged through, pulling out a couple cans of baked beans and setting them on the stove, which he quickly turned on. While the stove heated up, Cole slipped his shoes off and sat down in the only other chair, stretching and yawning. Sure, it was the apocalypse, but dammit, he still needed to kick back sometimes!

Eventually the flame in the burner turned a brilliant blue which he knew meant it was ready, and he cracked one of the cans open with his pocket knife, setting it on the burner so he could at least eat warm beans. While the beans heated up, he peeked out from behind his board. The sun had just sunk behind the horizon, meaning the muties were gonna be out soon. Meaning he’d have to be quiet as he could. He replaced the board and checked on the beans; they were sufficiently cooked, and he dug in with relish. It had been a few days since he’d had food that wasn’t insects (which, don’t get him wrong, weren’t all _ that _ bad, but they weren’t good either), and he was going to relish every second he had with these beans. These delicious, scrumptious baked beans. Ooo, was that a chunk of bacon mixed in? Cole chewed it for a moment, then made a quiet hum of satisfaction. It was indeed bacon. Delectable.

Unfortunately, he nearly choked on said bacon when a sudden ‘scraaaaatch’ emanated from the opposite side of the door at the back of the room, where a shelf rested. He went dead silent, listening to the visitor click to itself for a few seconds, then as it screeched quietly and scurried away. He let out a quiet sigh and looked down at his beans, frowning. “...I’m not hungry anymore,” he muttered to himself, setting the beans on the stove and collapsing onto the mattress in the corner, yawning. He fumbled for his scrap of a blanket and grumbled quietly, falling asleep nearly the moment his head hit his deflated half-pillow. Life was hectic nowadays. He had to get sleep where he could.

When he woke up, it was still dark outside. Which wasn’t good. Meant the muties were still out and about, hunting for no-infs like him. Meant he had to stay deathly quiet, or else one of the blind ones was gonna find him. He cast a wary glance to the door, and wondered (not for the first time) why on earth he’d set up in the same building as a mutie nest. At the time, it seemed like a fine idea - guaranteed protection from the hunters, and the muties were never gonna think to look so close to their nest, they weren’t smart enough. But still. They seemed like they were getting smarter, and smarter meant they’d make smarter choices. Which meant they’d be looking closer and closer to their nest. Which meant they’d find him. As he pulled his shoes on, he pondered the length of time he had left before this place wasn’t safe anymore. He guessed a couple of months, but that was the best case scenario. More likely a week or two. Which meant he had a few more days at most to pick the area clean of supplies. Time to get to work.

He carefully slipped the window board outside and took a sweeping glance around the street. No more muties, thank God, but there were a couple new broken windows on the old school bus, and a huge obscenity scrawled in red across its hood. Which usually either meant some punk survivor kid had come through with paint, or hunters. Probably hunters. Just meant Cole had to be extra quiet, and extra vigilant. No biggie. He had this.

He dropped from the window to the car below, reaching up to re-conceal the window behind him so nothing came in to trash the place. That was the last thing he needed, some stray mutie tearing his shit up while he was on a scav run. Once the board was secure, Cole dropped from the roof of the car to the ground and hurried across the street to one of the buildings he hadn’t hit yet; a smaller brick building, looked like a sort of bodega or something similar. Probably had some foodstuffs, maybe some medical supplies. Unless it had been hit already, like 90% of the places in this shitty town. Cole crouched down beneath one of the windows and prepared to smash through when he heard something else smash; sounded like a bottle being thrown. He sucked in his breath and swore quietly. Hunters.

Not long after, he heard the laughs. “Good one, man! That definitely woulda taken out a lamb!” Lamb, or otherwise, a human person. The voice sounded gruff, deep. A man, probably in his mid-30s. Difficult to take out without bullets, of which Cole had maybe 5, but he’d manage. This second voice was higher-pitched, but still a guy; probably late teens, early 20s. “Oh, pshaw, that wimpy throw? Naw, man, watch this shit!” Another smash sounded, and the deep voice laughed louder. “Ok, damn, I see what you mean, man! Now THAT woulda been deadly!” The second voice started saying something, probably vulgar, but some unheard third voice that he couldn’t quite pick up on made them both mutter to themselves and fade away. He waited a few minutes, to make sure they were gone for good, then quickly slipped in through the (he now realized) open door.

The place was trashed. Anything useful was gone, and the shit that was left had been thrown all over the damn place. Bottles, both smashed and unsmashed, littered the ground; it was nearly impossible to not step on the glass, there were empty packets of chips everywhere, and someone had DEFINITELY taken a shit behind the counter, if the smell was anything to go by. But...those hunters probably had a lot of it. And there was probably more wherever they were camping out. Cole debated with himself for a few minutes about the stupidity of this idea, before ultimately deciding that even if he died, at least he made it 5 years.

He slowly crept through the door at the back of the building, which led into a small break room/storage room combo, with another door that presumably led into an alleyway where they threw out trash or what have you. And this room was similarly trashed; bottles everywhere, at least foor human skulls adorning a small shelf, and a huge, poorly-painted silhouette of a human, done in a sickening red that was definitely blood. It was always blood with hunters. Cole grimaced at the irony scent of the mural, then glanced cautiously at the door outside. He didn’t hear anything out there, but they could still be out there; maybe they’d heard him cross the street, or maybe they’d heard him accidentally move a bottle. Maybe they were waiting. He silently stalked over to the door, very carefully swinging it open to reveal the alley behind the shop, cringing at the squeak of the hinges. “Where’s WD-40 when you need it?” he muttered to himself, peeking around the doorframe.

Further down the alleyway to the left was a cluster of silhouettes, all hunched around a pile of random objects; ‘Those’ll be the hunters’, Cole thought. ‘Now, how do I take care of them…’ There looked to be about 5 or 6, 3 more than he was expecting; 4 male, 2 female, an all looked to be armed in some way. A couple had what looked like shotguns, an the others had makeshift bats or clubs, with spikes driven in at odd angles. Brutish, but deadly. And efficient. Cole glanced to the other side of the alley and saw a chain-link fence, easily 5 or 6 feet tall, but not much else. Turning back to the hunters, he was struck with an idea on how to deal with them, quickly scurrying back inside to procure the main ingredient: a bottle. Poking his head back outside, he very quickly smashed the bottle against the doorframe and slipped inside once more, taking cover behind a small couch.

Cole heard faint yelling coming from the group, and then grumbling and footsteps approaching the doorway. The 30-something guy. Oh boy. He carefully peeked out from behind the couch and saw an imposing 6-foot-something, beefy silhouetted blocking out most of the light from the open door. “Fuckin assholes, always leavin’ me to check on the fuckin noises...it could be a fuckin’ mutie, for all we know, but noooooo, they all gotta send Clive to his fuckin’ death…” He grumbled to himself as he tromped through the break room, right past Cole’s hiding spot. Cole watched him walk past, then carefully followed behind him, grabbing a particularly sharp piece of bottle as he went.

As Clive was pacing the aisles, continually muttering to himself about “fuckin assholes,” and “not even a scrap latest time,” Cole was slowly following behind, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Which, honestly, was any moment. Not like Clive had any buddies keeping an eye on him. So, when Clive was about to complete his lap of the aisles, Cole leapt onto his back and started stabbing him wherever he could. Clive started swearing, then opened his mouth so he could call for help - but he never got that far. Cole sliced his neck wide open, and Clive crumpled. He gurgled for a few moments, blood gushing out of the open wound, before he ceased struggling and simply lay there, dead as can be. Cole sighed in relief and stared down at the body for a second, then came to his senses and started rifling through whatever Clive had on him.

The moment he cleaned out Clive’s pockets of anything useful (that wasn’t dubious scraps of meat,) Cole started hearing a few questioning yells coming from the rest of the hunters. He froze. He hadn’t thought quite this far ahead. But, well, he had a knife now, and his bullet count was up to 12, so he could be a teensy bit more lenient. And speaking of sharp objects, he hadn’t realized it at the time, but his hand had gotten sliced the fuck open on that glass; he made a mental note to bandage that up when he wasn’t preoccupied with a bunch of murderers. For now, he had to hide.

After scrambling around for a moment, he finally concluded on (unfortunately) hiding out in the now-very-overused bathrooms, which reeked of piss and shit. It smelled awful, but it was a good enough hiding place for now. Soon, he heard 2 sets of footsteps, lighter than Clive, as well as two new voices; and older male, maybe in his 40s, and a mid-20s woman with a thick Boston accent. He heard them asking what was taking so long, where the hell are you, Clive? And then they fell silent. And then the man said, “...fuck, that’s bad.”

“No shit, idiot. Search the place, maybe whoever murked our boy is still here.”

“Yeah, yeah…” The man’s voice got quieter, suggesting he’d started heading out to the street. But the woman’s footsteps kept pacing the aisles, and he heard her cocking a revolver. Shit. “Come out, come out, ya little dumbfuck lamb…” The woman growled, footsteps stopping at the bathroom door. A pause. Then she opened it, immediately retching. “Oh my God, it fucking stinks in here!”

“I know, right?” Maybe it was a stupid idea, giving away his spot. But the look on her face was priceless. She swiveled to face him just as he leapt out and shoved the knife deep into her neck, then ripped it out and stabbed her in the face. She didn’t even get a chance to scream. Cole stared down at the body, then turned and retched, vomiting up his meager meal of beans from the night before. “Ugh,” he murmured, wiping his lips afterwards, “that sucked.”

“Hey, Reagan!” The older man, from before. Shit. Cole didn’t have anywhere to hide; Reagan’s body was halfway out the door, she’d get spotted instantly. “Think, Cole, think…” He quickly looked around the bathroom. Toilet (Filled with piss and shit; people are stupid sometimes,) sink (no use, water was turned off 2 years ago,) window (...bingo.) Cole glanced at the door and then slammed himself into the window, smashing it and tumbling out to the street below.

Hurriedly, he scrambled to cower beneath the windowsill, clutching his now-bleeding shoulder with his opposite hand. He heard the older man suck in his breath, then shout, “Boss! We got a situation here!” Before immediately cocking his revolver and retreating from the bathroom. Cole heard swearing from the other 2 hunters, then rapid footsteps as they ran over to the back entrance to the bodega. However, he hadn’t thought this cover through; since, yknow, the two alleys connected. He watched in horror as the other man, the 20s guy, stopped, grinned, and raised his shotgun. “Gotcha, little lamb,” he growled, and Cole immediately leaped to the other side of the alley right as the hunter pulled the trigger, sending a shot right where Cole had been mere seconds before. The hunter swore, pumping the shotgun and ejecting the empty shell. All the time Cole needed to get the hell out of there as fast as he could.

He tore out of the alleyway and down the street to his hidey-hole, right as the other two, the older man and the ‘boss’ burst out of the bodega. The older man shouted and let loose two shots, both of which whizzed by. Cole scrambled up onto the car and into the hidey hole, shoving the board into place and then the bookshelf in front of the board. “This is fine,” he muttered to himself, backing as far away from the shelf. “I’m fine. It’s only 3 vicious killers with shotguns against one guy. I’ll be fine.” A sudden jolt told him they’d taken a shot. “...fuck.” He stared at the bookshelf numbly for a second or two, then scramble to get all his various shit together.

3 books he wanted to read? Check. Random food? Check. The old picture of him and his sister? Check. He grabbed everything he could before a buckshot blast tore a hole through the board and the bookshelf. He jumped, stared at the huge, jagged hole, and scrambled frantically through the nearest door. Which so happened to be the door that led to the rest of the building. Which had a mutie nest. Fuck.

Cole shut the door and immediately froze, staring down the hallway he now found himself in. It was dark, and dingy, with mold and grime caking nearly every surface he could see. Clearly this part of the building had long since fallen into disrepair; maybe because of the presence of muties, maybe because of water damage from various storms over the years, maybe both. But it was structurally unsound either way. And also had terrifying mutants roaming around.

He took a deep breath and carefully, cautiously, took the first few steps down the hallway. Nothing yet. A few more steps. Nothing. Then again, it was daytime, and that usually meant the muties were asleep, or at least inactive. So while it wasn’t...safe, per se, it was safer than it could have been. Either way, he wasn’t exactly keen on making a lot of noise, especially since that mutie that came to his door latest night was clicking. Easy way to tell it was blind, which meant it had supersonic hearing, ala bats. So. Quiet.

Cole slowly got braver and braver with his steps down the hall, no longer crouching low and sneaking along. Dimly, he was aware of the hunters shouting behind him; they must have finally gotten into his hidey-hole and realized he’d made an escape deeper into the building. None of them sounded incredibly enthusiastic to follow; muties were ruthless when they weren’t busy being asleep. Which, he realized, was not the case with this particular nest, if the sudden rustling from one of the rooms was anything to go by. He stiffened, frozen with nerves, before quickly rushing into a room on the opposite side of the hall. He’d barely gotten the door closed when he heard the other door slowly creak open.

Nervously, he peered through the peephole, and there it was, in all its hideous glory; a mutie. A blind one, by the looks of things, though his visibility was limited; the skin where the eyes should have been was taught and smooth, but the ears were long-wretched things, twitching this way and that; if Cole wasn’t silent as a mouse, he’d attract its attention, and this room didn’t have the luxury of an easy out. If he jumped out the window of this room, he’d plummet 2-3 floors onto solid concrete. At the very least, that would break something; probably a leg, and a broken leg was not conducive to a quick escape. A sharp sting from his hand nearly made him hiss in pain; as it was, his sharp intake of breath made the thing’s left ears twitch his way from a fraction of a second. Then the hunters resumed shouting to eachother, and it screeched and tore down the hallway. Cole took this moment to wrap his hand with a ‘bandage’ - in truth, it was just a clean-ish scrap of cloth. Better than nothing.

Once his hand was all wrapped up and the mutie was sufficiently occupied with the hunters, Cole made to burst out of the room and take off down the hall, away from where it went. And then there was a shotgun blast. And a loud screech. A swear, shouted in woman’s voice with a thick Texan accent. And a shattering bottle, following soon after. “Flush ‘im out, dammit!” the Texan said. “He can’t be that far!” Cole quickly looked out the door and saw...flames. Roiling, crackling flames, spreading slowly along the damp mold, but spreading nonetheless. His eyes widened, he murmured a “fuck,” under his breath, and then bolted down the hall, as far away from the fire as possible.

Clearly, however, he wasn’t paying close enough attention to where he was putting his feet; a large hole in the floor proved that. His foot hit air, then kept going; and Cole, powerless to stop his fall, went down with it, accompanied with a shout of “God dammit!” before he hit the ground. His shoulder hit first, with a painful thunk, and then his head was smacked hard into the floor with a sickening crack. He was out like a light.


End file.
